Seven Years
by Archea
Summary: Seven years at Hogwarts made Sherlock a great wizard, a splendid detective and the Chosen One. That Sherlock did not un-make Hogwarts in the process is more of a wonder. Sherlock/John, pre-slash. Spoilers for both canons.


**Disclaimer :**Sherlock belongs to MM. Conan Doyle, Moffat, Gatiss and probably a few others – I'd strongly recommend collective babysitting in his case.

**A/N** : Inspired by Fensterseifer's delightful fanarts of Ravenclaw!Sherlock and Gryffindor!John (check her account on Deviantart).

**Seven Years**

**1. First Year.**

« Er, hullo. D'you mind if I... ? »

« Depends. Do you want to talk ? »

« Er, yeah, well, no, I mean, not if you don't want to. It's a three-hour journey, Harry said, so — »

« All right, sit down. So the name is Sherlock and before you ask, that's supposed to mean « fair hair », which is grottily illogical in my case but you know how it is, old wizarding stock, Old Saxon ancestors, all that. You're half Muggle, aren't you ? Which is fine, by the way. Oh, and your name is John, Harry's your sister, not brother, your folks are a bit on the penniless side, that's why you're pretending not to hear that witch passing by with her food-trolley, which is fine with me too, and you're hoping to get sorted into Gryffindor, which is rather dull but good luck to you. S'pose I'll end up in Ravenclaw like Dad and Mycroft. »

« Wizzard ! »

« Yes, that's what we're supposed to be. »

« No, I mean, really, it's fantastic. How did you know about —»

« Your parents being broke ? Easy. That jumper you're wearing, it's too short at the waist but not because you've outgrown it, 'cause the wool is new and if you had the sleeves wouldn't cover your wrists as they do. So, jumper was hand-knitted by your Mum but she ran out of wool and then ran out of cash to buy more wool. QED, and nice J-pattern by the way. »

**sh-jw-sh-jw**

_Ah, another young Holmes... mmmmm... I suppose you have a pretty clear idea of which House you want to be in ?_

Can't you guess ?

_Well, I would hazard that Quidditch and emotional acting-out are not your cup of tea... _

Yuck.

_And that group loyalty doesn't ring a spell..._

Nah.

_And that peer-to-peer opportunity – no, that would have been your brother except he didn't favour green for his tie. Well, and that leaves us with... RAVENCLAW!_

« Little brother ! Now I can truly keep an eye on you ! »

... Any chance I can rethink my options ?

**2. Second Year**

« Hey, John ! Can I borrow your quill ? »

« No you can't, it's the only one I've left till lunch. »

« But it's History of Magic ! You're not going to take notes in History, are you ? I mean, who cares about mouldy old kings and queens and goblin wars and which Pure-Blood married which and — »

« Shhhh ! What d'you want my quill for if you're not taking notes ? »

« It's an experiment. »

« Sherlock. Last time you said that, _you ate the quill_ and she said — »

« She ? »

« Er, Mrs Pomfrey. She —»

« Oh. The Matron. You're aware, aren't you, that she's not only thirty years older than you but secretly married to Professor Flitwick since the law on interspecies breeding makes it impossible for her to wear her ring in daytime ? Someone should tell her it leaves a pretty visible mark all the same. »

« Oh, boy. Sometimes you really freak me out, you know that ? »

« Yeah. So I was thinking, if we dip your quill in puffskein blood... »

**sh-jw-sh-jw**

« Sherlock, aren't you supposed to be in your dorm ? »

« If it comes to that, why are you stalking me in the corridor ? Exercising ? »

« It is a Prefect's duty to do nightly rounds in a spirit of communal solidarity, all the more when a basilisk has taken to roaming incognito. But I dare say your juvenile brain can hardly process so many novel concepts simultaneously. »

« Don't you show off with me, Mycroft. And don't think you're the only one who guessed. Secret Chamber's entry is through the girls' toilets. »

« Obviously. Designed by Slytherin around 1156, lately recycled by Voldemort or one of his minions to keep a murderous pet snake who, may I add, already killed one girl and nearly offed another. Dear me, now I'm beginning to sound like one of your dreadful detective stories. »

« So... spoken to Dumbledore yet ? »

« Merlin, no. The man would probably ask me to conduct investigation in the _sewers_. You ? »

« Nah. Tried to feed me sweets last time he visited me in the Hospital wing. »

« Right you are. Dorm ? »

« Dorm, but _I_ get to answer the riddle. »

**3. Third Year.**

« Stay close, I think I heard something. »

« Not _something_, John. You should really pay more attention to language, you know. If I guessed right, what you heard is a gigantic black dog with bright shiny eyes and a rather agressive woof. And before you ask, no, not a bad omen, not supernatural, plainly magical, and we're not going to die after it has crossed our paths. »

« I wasn't asking anything, Sherlock. »

« Well, you did look intrigued when Professor Trelawney raised the subject in class. Unless you were intrigued by Professor Trelawney, 'course. The age difference would be just— »

« Heck ! The non-omen thing's just broken my leg ! »

« Oh, that's him, then. It's all right, John ! Just let him drag you down, he's not dangerous ! He's an unregistered dog Animagus going by the rather blatant name of Sirius Black, got framed twelve years ago for a crime he did not commit, spent them all in Azkaban judging by the smell of damp and... nah, can't hear me underground. S'pose I'd better go in and explain before John is left a cripple. Now let's see. Willow. Tree. Trunk. Knob, one. Nice long branch lying round. Radius between trunk and branch approximately equates branch length plus arm span. Down we go ! »

**sh-jw-sh-jw**

« Good evening, Headmaster. I thought perhaps you'd like to to see me. »

« Your thinking does you credit, Sherlock. Though I must say that in the usual course of things, I prefer to extend my invitations myself – but « usual » is not a word to be applied to the present circumstances. I take it that nobody gave you my password ? »

« It's no great feat, really, sir. What with the law of semantic probabilities — »

« Tea, Sherlock ? »

« Black, two sugars. Thank you. »

« As a matter of fact, I did want to see you. You've already guessed why, I suppose. If you eliminate the impossible, and _that_ is quite a feat in our world, it leaves you with the improbable truth that... »

« ... you need my help. »

« Wrong. »

« W... _what do you mean, wrong _? »

« I'll need your help when you can provide it, Sherlock. For the present time, I want to... consult with you as I did with your brother before the Ministry had a prior claim on him. Trust you with certain facts and hear you respond to them to the best of your capacity. Now, don't pinch your lips at my teapot. Magical teapots are quick to heat up and you might end with honeyed Bovril in your cup, which is fine with me by the way — »

« So you think I'm intellectually limited. »

« Nothing of the sort, my boy. Let me put it this way. One of the great riddles of this school is : Why does the Headmaster like lemon sherbets ? »

« Oh please. You don't really like them, you just pretend you do in order to distract people and let them think you're a candid crackpot, and then temporize and analyse them while their mouth is full. »

« Well done, Sherlock. You have just given me... let us call it a seven percent solution. The remaining ninety-three are still out of your reach because they imply factors you cannot yet gauge, such as the smell of elderflower at the peak of summer and a young voice humming Strauss's « _Wo die Zitronen blühen _». You see, the head cannot quite do without the heart when it comes to assessing human motivations. But you have plenty of time to consider this. Right now, I think you should go back to your dormitory. Rest assured that Mr Black is entirely safe and whole. »

« Sir... »

« Yes, Sherlock ? »

« Is John safe and whole ? »

« Ah, we are making headway. Yes, yes, we are making headway. »

**4. Fourth Year.**

« Erm, Sherlock. Mind if I ask you something ? »

« For the last time, John, I didn't put my name into that blasted cup ! I've still no idea who did and I'm not in a talking mood. »

« Erm, well, no, I was just wondering if you'd asked someone to the ball. »

« ... What ? »

« The Yule Ball. You know. New Year's revels, dancing, singing, butterbeer snogging, all that. So. Got yourself, er, a date ? »

« ... »

« ... Sherlock ? »

« No. No date. Dates — are not my area, as Professor Binns could tell you. »

« Oh. »

« Not good ? »

« No, no, jolly good in fact. That means we can do it together. Ask them, I mean. To make it less embarrassing. All we've got to do is find you a nice girl. I want to ask... »

« Sarah Sawyer. Sixth Year. You do have a thing for age difference, John. »

« Don't be gross. So I figured we'd go and speak to her after lunch and... Sherlock ? »

« ... »

« No-talking mood. Right. I'll go check these underwater spells, then, you'll probably need one if you want to survive your next task. »

**sh-jw-sh-jw**

« Mr Holmes. For more than forty months now I have witnessed your inner conviction that Potions were devised by a beaming Providence for your exclusive entertainment. I have borne with your arrogance, your uppish mannerisms, puppyish witticisms and general confidence in your largely overrated skills. Still, I am not a patient man, as you may have inferred by now, and to provoke me in my own classroom is a phenomenally stupid idea. »

« So you saw it as provocation. »

« You'll speak when I give you permission to speak, you impudent whelp. Now hand over that skull and come with me to the Headmaster's office. »

« It is interesting, you know. »

« Procrastination will only make your case worse, Holmes. »

« When you saw the skull on my desk, you gave the signs of fear. Not cowardice, which grabs a body in a totally different way as I've had every chance to observe in your class. You did not recoil, you didn't even pale, but your eyes glazed for a second and by the time you called me up for detention you had shifted your stirring rod to your left hand. That's when I knew. »

« If you think yourself impressive, Holmes, think better of it. My past is common knowledge in these premises. »

« A genuine Deatheater would have shielded his left arm. A coward would have hid it. You pushed yours forward, forcing yourself to acknowledge it at the very moment when you were asking yourself what sort of a signal the skull was. You may still be a Deatheater, Professor, but you no longer believe in their creed. You are Dumbledore's man. »

« As he no doubt told you during those little tea sessions of yours. »

« He didn't. And I mostly believe what I can deduce on my own, anyway. »

« ... And ? »

« You were hired as a Potions assistant in January 1981. Why ? Professor Slughorn did not retire before June, so why create a supernumerary post ? The Headmaster would not have gone to such efforts it if he hadn't been certain you had changed sides. Something had to have happened before that, something that would have given him this certainty. I owled my brother at the Ministry and asked him to look up the archives for that year. On the 31rst of October, a young couple resisting Voldemort was murdered along with their baby boy. James and Lily Potter, both of them sorted here the same year as you were. »

« I see. And your oh-so-rational mind leapt to the obvious conclusion that I had been partly responsible for their death and had embraced a teacher's career here as the best, i.e. most painful, way to atonement. »

« And stuck to it for ten years and more ? Not likely. There's more to this than redemption. It was not just your conscience that kept you there, it was your heart. »

« I have been reliably informed that I have none, Mr Holmes. »

« Information mostly informs on the informant. I didn't need any to know that you had been in love with James Potter. »

« ... »

« For more than forty months you have borne with me. You obviously detest everything you see in me – my Pure Blood, my uppish manners and puppyish witticisms, my self-confidence. Yet you never once punished me. Never even raised your voice. I'm fairly good at Potions and I'm not a Gryffindor but that doesn't explain all. The explanation came when my brother sent me press cuttings of November 1981 with photographs of the deceased couple. These old, old Pure Blood alliances always tell in the long run, Professor. Except for the glasses and the fact that I have clear eyes, I'm — »

« _Please_. »

« ... »

« ... »

« So. Shall we go and have tea with the Headmaster ? I'll keep the skull if you don't mind – it's rather astonishing, what some of these female ghosts will dig up for you if you chat them up the right way. »

**sh-jw-sh-jw**

**5. Fifth Year.**

« Pink ! Pink ! Pink ! How am I to investigate a woman with a colour fetish ? It's giving my brain a sugar high. »

« Did you check her wardrobe ? »

« Don't be silly, John. Why would she keep it in a wardrobe ? »

« Well, why would she keep it in a drawer ? You've checked her desk twice before anything else ! »

« No, that was out of curiosity. That quill of hers could be worth an experiment or two. »

« I'm not letting you toy with self-mutilation for the sake of science, Sherlock ! »

« Hurry up, she'll be back any minute. Come on, John, we're _so_ looking for a pink owl. Or a pink flamingo but I think we'd have spotted it by now. Her bloody Squad is keeping tabs on all the School owls and I need to communicate with Mycroft. »

« You could use her Floo. »

« Nah, I prefer owl messaging. Cleaner. No crick in the neck. »

« No kneeling in front of your elder brother. »

« No kneeling in front of _anyone_, John, unless they give me very good reason to. »

« Sherlock ! »

« Shoot, there's the signal. Quick, before she climbs the stairs. I must really set up a clandestine intelligence network one of these days. D'you think the House elves... »

**sh-jw-sh-jw**

« What do you mean, _dull_ ? Mr Holmes, choosing a career is one of the peak moments in a young wizard's life ! »

« I don't know that I'd call it 'choose', Professor. We should really pay attention to our use of language, and your five or six options hardly compare with the hundreds of possibilities Muggle schooling provides for its graduates. Not that I'd feel any more inclined to chose, but at least the verb would make sense. »

« But your OWL results are so promising. Wouldn't you like to become an Auror ? In these troubled times, Hogwarts expects every wizard to do his duty and — »

« Professor McGonagall. In the whole of _your_ career, have you ever met a Lone Auror ? »

« Well, it wouldn't harm you to practise a little team spirit, you know. You'd meet with many young people sharing your interests. That nice Hufflepuff boy with a French name, who's in charge of — »

« I _could_ ask to be partnered with John. »

« I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr Holmes, but Mr Watson is considering an apprenticeship at St Mungo's. Healer Sawyer says she'll be glad to save him a place in her ward. Now the Headmaster thought — »

« Someone should really hex the female sex with a triple-edged spell . »

« — he'd first involve you a little further in his crusade for non-violence and communal reconciliation. »

« Oh. Well, that makes sense at least. Will it be any fun, d'you think ? »

**Sixth Year.**

« Sorry, Jim. Not interested. »

« Oh come on, sweetheart. You don't want to get bored to death fighting the good fight, do you ? Not when you could have such screaming fun with my little band. »

« It was you, wasn't it ? Two years ago. It was you who put my name in the Goblet of Fire. »

« Oh, good ! Very good ! Yes it waaaaas. And didn't you just love it ! Zooming through the flames ! Taking that little trip full fathom five ! _Sherlock, Sherlock, burning bright_... He's good at it, you know. He charms the heart right out of you. Burns your arm, and the fire goes up to your head. _In the forest of the night_... »

« Your night is madness, Jim. I'm not losing my brain to your crowd. »

« But think of the gain, Sherlock. Think of the vim, the zing, the _high_. It's a once-in-your-life proposal, love. Your little pet may offer to make an honest man of you, but he'll never make your blood simmer as I could. »

« Leave John well alone. What you're offering is for me to rub elbows with a bunch of tattoed hoodlums. What's so attractive about that ? Thought you'd have more self-esteem than join Arsonists Anonymous. »

« Well, a man must make a living, you know. We can't all rely on Big Brother to keep an eye on us and our wallets. Call it training if you will. »

« Call it quits. Though I'll probably see you again on your trial day. »

« Not if I see you first, sexy. And believe me, I'll see to that, I will. »

**sh-jw-sh-jw**

« So you're leaving school one year earlier. »

« Well. Dumbledore's dead, Snape's dead, Jim's on the run, what's the use of staying ? I told Professor McGonagall I'd stand a better chance of finding these Horcrux outside and she had to agree. It's not as if I wanted a graduation diploma anyway. »

« And you get to piss off Mycroft. »

« Yeah, there's that too. »

« All right. When are we going ? »

« John. Are you sure — you'll need to pass your NEWTS if you want to become a Healer. »

« There's no way I'm letting you handle this on your own. And St Mungo's is juggling with reduced staff right now, courtesy of Voldemort, so they've agreed to take me on as an intern in July when I've turned seventeen. I spoke to Professor McGonagall about this and she says she has that nice Squib niece with rooms to rent... »

« Merlin, another middle-aged woman. »

« ... and she's contacted what's-his-name, Lestrange, I think, from the Auror Office to act as a relay. »

« In other words, I'm getting two nannies. Oh frabjous day. »

« At least we'll be in the same House this time. »

« Yeah, there's that. »

**7. Seventh Year.**

« I _might_ be able to smuggle John and you into the Ministry, but on one condition. »

« Queen and Country and Dumbledore not good enough for you ? »

« You're going as a woman, Little Brother. Were I to succumb to these bleak, bleak times, I want a last-hour happy memory. »

**sh-jw-sh-jw**

« For Godric's sake, Sherlock, there's nothing whatsoever psychosomatic about a Crucio. I'll be fine in just another minute. »

**sh – jw- sh - jw**

« Slytherin locket. Slytherin ring. Hufflepuff cup. Ravenclaw diadem. Makes you wish the criminal classes had a little more madness in their method, it's so easy to foretell. »

**sh – jw- sh - jw**

« Look, just stop arguing and deliver the bloody Horcrux already. And _I_ get to call Anderson a dunderhead. »

**sh – jw – sh - jw**

« I can't believe you made me Apparate all the way from St Mungo's to talk _my_ owl into delivering _your_ messages. It had better be for the Greater Good, Sherlock. »

« I tried to make her ! She nearly bit off my finger. My _writing_ finger. »

« Serves you right for feeding her an earlobe last time. No wonder she gave you a peck, I'd do the same if... if... »

« Nice blush, John. Quite Gryffindorish, if I may say so. »

« Just shut up and show me that finger. »

**sh – jw – sh - jw**

« Oh my, oh my, it looks like I won't be able to do your shopping today, boys. You-Know-Who has blown the Muggle supermarket to smithereens with sixty-eight Muggles in it, women and children mostly, can you ima... Sherlock ? »

« Human supplies galore ! Oh, it's Christmas ! »

**sh – jw – sh - jw**

« My umbrella ? _My_ umbrella is the last Horcrux ? Good god, is there anything this man hasn't yet desecrated ? »

**sh – jw – sh - jw**

« Good night, sweet Lord, and may flights of angels nah-nah-nah. In other words, Daddy had it coming. So how did you like my little quip with the umbrella ? It took me months to persuade him, you know. »

« Fire and water, your pet elements. You're rather predictable, Jim. »

« Ah, predictions. Let's hear you prophesy then, bright boy. Shall I live happily ever after in Azkaban ? Or do you plan to give me a second chance now I'm a free-lancer ? Peace can be excruciatingly boring, dahling, and I have a wicked imagination. D'you want evidence ? »

« What evidence ? »

« Ah, ah, ah. Slow down, baby. Clues must be earned, not spilled. Go home like a good boy and wait for my owl. Oh, you're going to love this – it begins with the Warbeck woman left hanging in a cauldron full of... no, I musn't spoil the fun for you. So. Wands out, or do I have your permission to Stupefy the cavalry ? »

« I didn't bring any Aurors, as you well know. I'm free-lance, too. »

« Well then. Pip-pip, dear. »

**sh – jw- sh - jw**

« According to Rita Skeeter, you've earned yourself a new nickname in the wizarding world. They call you The-Man-Who-Lived. »

« Ridiculous. Really, Voldemort did less harm to his opponents than the British public daily do to their mother tongue. What's the point of using the past tense if they're praising my survival skills ? »

« Speaking of which, someone's let on to the Press about your little habit of sniffing Floo powder to speed up your brain connections. »

« Mycroft's going to love that. Perhaps he'll finally stop trying to load me with that First-Class Order thing. »

« And to top it all, Skeeter is suggesting that you trampled Bellatrix Lestrange and finished her off with an Avada because she had called me « a woolly lamb » and that you, quote, « ran after her, dreading in his heart of hearts that the man he had come to cherish more than a brother might suffer a fate worse than slaughter at the hands of such a talented sorceress. »

« ... »

« ... Sherlock ? »

**sh – jw – sh - jw**

« Red cheeks suit you, you know. A bit Gryffindorish, but they make a nice contrast with the scarf. »

« Just shut up and kiss me again. »

« And this one's on my House ! »

FINIS


End file.
